


Trampled Under Foot

by SoulSurvivor_36



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Hot Sex, Orgasm, Sex, Sex in/on the Impala (Supernatural), Sub Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 07:15:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18115913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulSurvivor_36/pseuds/SoulSurvivor_36
Summary: Dean Winchester is an arrogant ass who just barges in on people's hunts and takes over like he's the saviour...  Gee, averting an Apocalypse or two can really go to a guy's head!  On top of that he's nothing but a womanizer!  Nahuh, not for you... he can take his damn sex appeal and shove it up his ass for all you care, you are NOT ending up like all those other girls he seduces and ditches.Not you.Not happening.No siree.





	Trampled Under Foot

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this is a second fic I'm doing for the FicFacer$2018 auction that happened back in December. We're gearing up to do it all over again in June, so if you like the kinds of things you find in this collection and would like something tailor-made for you, keep your eyes peeled for the next one! 
> 
> Nathalie, this one's for you hun! Hope you enjoy.

What a dumb fucking idea, hunting with Dean Winchester.

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed, you know that?  What the hell’s wrong with you?” he growls at you.

“Nothing,” you answer him in a mumble.  You’re staring out the window trying hard to keep your cool.  A week of hunting with the prick and he’s seriously starting to get under your skin.

“Like hell!” Dean throws back angrily.

You’re practically shaking from the effort it’s taking you to quell your rising anger.  So what if the rumours about his hunting skills elevate him to God-like status?  He’s an arrogant ass and you want nothing to do with him.

“Look, you wanna do some dumb shit and get yourself killed, fine but not when you’re supposed to be watching my back, got it?  I’m not letting some dumbass rookie get me dead.”

Fuming, you turn to glare at him, “Oh that’s rich!  That werewolf would’ve had your hide if I hadn’t stabbed it in the heart!  You’re just being a brat because you’re angry the monster nearly got ya and it was a fucking ‘rookie’ who yanked your ass out of the fire.”

“Fuck,” Dean exclaims under his breath as he adjusts his position behind the wheel of his Baby.  He shakes his head and stares straight ahead at the road, a deep frown on his face, his teeth grinding together making his jaw muscles twitch.

You feel the anger boiling away inside, deep down.  As you glare at him, your own teeth mashing together, your eyes begin to stray down the length of his body.  The man has no right to look the way he does when he eats the junk road food that seems to be his only sustenance.  You had known, when he had rolled into town driving the beast of an Impala, a legend in and of itself amongst hunters, that this was going to be your greatest challenge: working side-by-side with the pretty boy Winchester and stay professional.

_I hate you, I hate you, I hate you_ …  you repeat to yourself like a mantra trying to remember all the stories from the female hunters you sometimes cross on the road and who all seem to have the same stories about the man.  A true womanizer.  A sexual conqueror.  And if there’s one thing you absolutely hate, it’s men who fuck and fly.

As your mind strays, you realize your eyes have taken full inventory of the man: green eyes, plump lips, cut body, long legs and between them…

“Stop the car,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“What?”

“Stop the FUCKING CAR, Dean!” you find yourself yelling, the tight leash you have on your emotions slipping.  You have to get air, get away from his overwhelming presence just filling that car up to the brim and making you want to explode.  You reach for the handle and start pushing on the door before he even starts to slow towards the curb on the side of the deserted highway.  The tires squeal and the black Impala comes to a screeching halt.  You step out into the stifling heat of the August evening, the scalding sun barely down below the distant horizon.  You slam the door behind you and shake your hands violently, swinging your arms down hard trying to get the feeling of ants crawling under your skin off of you.

The anger is welling up inside like water bursting from a scratch in the soil and part of you wonders where it has all come from.  Then, the scream that had been building up in the pit of your stomach tears its way up your throat, scratching through your vocal chords as it bursts out your mouth in a sound that would make any horror movie starlet proud.

A large, warm hand rests gently on your shoulder and you react like you’ve been burned with a hot poker.  “Don’t touch me!!!” you scream as you brush away his hand.

He stands there looking stunned, his plumps lips parted, his eyebrows furrowed together like he’s just trying to understand.  Your eyes take him all in again, the slight bow in his legs obvious now that he’s standing.  His grey plaid panels hanging on his torso are waving lazily in the hot breeze though the fabric is hugging the curve of his biceps.  What right does the man have to look so goddamned sexy?  You have to keep reminding yourself that under that false exterior, there’s a monster who would only fuck you, then leave.

The anger surges through you again and you burst forward, charging at him with a cry and your hands connect to his unyielding chest.  Your momentum knocks him back a few steps, but you slip and fall to your knees, tearing your jeans, the gravel digging into your skin.  You feel energized, like you’re running on electricity and someone has finally thought to plug you in.  You stand as Dean reaches towards you and you knock into him again, this time with your shoulder.  He jerks back, his body rocking into the side of the sleek black car.  You don’t give him a chance to recover; you ball your right fist tightly and swing it with all your might.  Your knuckles connect with his face, sending a shock through your hand and up your arm and spinning his head to the side.

The pain in your hand distracts you a moment as you wrap the fingers from your left hand around the fist that you don’t seem to be able to open or flex completely anymore.

“Damnit, give it here,” Dean says, not even sounding angry that you just clogged him a good one.  He reaches for your hand again and you shove him away, pushing against his chest.

“Fuck off!”

You look up at him and see the blood starting to run from the split in his lip where it got caught between your knuckles and his teeth.  You can feel your anger just roiling in your stomach, and something else, something fuzzy, confusing your brain and you know that you need to get away from him.  You turn and start to walk away, looking up and down the still deserted pavement of the lost, broken, backroad highway.  You feel Dean’s fingers wrap around your wrist loosely.

“Nat,” he says, his voice all soft and low and you react, yanking your wrist free and pushing him against the car again, your palms against his shoulders, where you suddenly freeze.

Dean is looking down at you, his green eyes far from angry, but almost aglow with something else, an intensity that feels like it’s going to consume you, a mix of pain, sorrow and conflict.  A tingling runs through your whole body, the anger beginning to evaporate like mist touched by the rays of the sun.  You throw yourself against him, your whole body pressing into his as your mouth slams against his lips.  You ball his open shirt tightly in your fists and you part and press your lips against his hungrily, lust flooding in to replace the dissipating anger.

Dean’s hands come up and he pushes against your shoulders gently as he unpresses you from him, sweat starting to soak through his black t-shirt in the humid air.  You rake your hands down his torso, and he groans, “Natalie, what are you doing?”  You ignore him and your fingers reach for the leather belt that’s holding his jeans to his hips and suddenly you’re scrambling to get the buckle undone.

His fingers curl around your shoulders and squeeze as his breath hitches in his chest, the sharp inhale loud as a shotgun cocking in your ear.  “Nat…” he starts, but before he can say anything more you slam your mouth against his again, one hand slipping into his untied jeans and the other up and holding a handful of his hair, yanking him down closer.

“Shut up,” you whisper fiercely, your lips pressed against his, and you can taste the last of the blood that has already stopped flowing from his cut.  Your hand closes around the hardening shaft of his cock and Dean groans deep in the back of his throat.  You gasp, feeling him get harder and thicker as you massage him.  He pulls his mouth away and leans his head back, gnashing his teeth.

You can feel the warm wetness starting to pool between your legs, and you’re pretty sure it isn’t sweat.  The last of your anger turns to desperate uncontrollable need; you want to feel him inside you, and you want it now.  You pull your hand away and grab the bottom of his t-shirt to yank it upwards.  Dean bends forward, letting you pull it over his head and then peel it off along with his overshirt.  You shove him back against the car and drink in the sight of him: bare chest gleaming and heaving in the summer dusk, his untied pants sliding low on his hips, his cock half out and reaching for more of your touch.

You pull off your own t-shirt, your hair falling around you in a tangled mess and your hands move to your bra clasp with practiced automatism.  Dean’s large hands close on your belt buckle and suddenly he’s yanking it off with a snap of leather through the loops, sending another jolt straight to your pussy.  You hurry to shimmy out of your jeans, the sweat-soaked fabric sticking to your skin. You’re vaguely aware of Dean doing the same with his own jeans.

You look up to see him standing in his black boxers, leaning by the open back door of the Impala in invitation.  How many girls had given in on that back seat?  And now it looks like you’ll be joining the legion of women, another notch in his belt.  Well fuck it, you decide, your eyes glued to the man’s ridiculously perfect body.

You take the few steps separating you from the dark back seat, but instead of taking a seat, you push against Dean and wrestle him down onto the leather, his legs dangling out the open door.  You pull his boxer briefs down to his ankles as he sits up, pulling his legs inside, his cock standing proudly erect and ready for you in his lap.

Feeling the excitement making you tingle with every slow crawl of sweat on your skin, you shed your panties and straddle his lap, your juices nearly running down your legs.  You shut the door behind you, hardly caring that you can’t straighten, the roof of the car nudging the back of your head forcing you to be nearly nose-to-nose with Dean.  This close up, you can see, even in the darkening interior of the car, that his nose is speckled in adorable freckles and they distract you for a half-second.

His eyes lock onto yours, smouldering from lust as he reaches forward to close the gap between you.  You let him get within a breath’s distance as you run your hands up the back of his neck and into his short hair.  Your fingers curl into the longer strands on the top and you yank his head back, making him hiss between his teeth before slamming your mouth down.  Your heart is pounding in your chest already, and your mind is finally free of thoughts as your body takes over for you.  You press into him, feeling your soft curves mold to his hard body, his cock trapped between you and straining for a place to go.  Your pussy is throbbing, painfully empty and wanting nothing more than to have him fill that space, like he has done countless times in your secret fantasies about the handsome hunter – wooer of ladies.

You press your lips against his desperately, your teeth pulling at his full lower lip as your hand strays down into his lap, wrapping around his cock again.  You moan in anticipation as you lean up and line him up.  You hold him there a moment, staring into his seductive eyes, feeling the heat from his cock so close to the throbbing at your core.  Slowly, you sink down onto him, feeling every inch of him pushing into you as he squeezes his eyes shut tightly with a groan.  You can’t help throwing your head back and crying out, feeling the passion and desperation build as he stretches you tightly.

You push up against your knees and slam back down on him, crying out again as you bend back against the front seat, feeling him slick out of you, then push back in as you slam down on him over and over.

Dean wraps his arms around your waist, taking one of your breasts in his mouth, and flicking at the nipple with his tongue.  You’re lost in the rut, barely paying attention to what you’re doing as the sensations build and swell and riot inside with every thrust.  He pulls you closer still, burying his face at the base of your throat, erotic whimpers and sighs escaping him and reaching your ears.  Just the sound of him is driving you wild and you speed up, slamming yourself down with more and more force.

You can feel his fingers digging into your thighs and when you look at him, his eyes are squeezed shut, his head is thrown back and his breaths are coming in gasps.  You’re not much better, you realize, as each of his meeting thrusts are getting more and more forceful and the cries and moans filling the space inside the car are your own.  You’re quickly becoming desperate to release the tension building up inside you like a tight coil.  Your actions become completely instinctive as you speed up again, bending back, your hands on his thighs, your nails digging in as you rut against him like an animal.  You’re so close to the edge, so ready to tip over, and you move against him desperately, not wanting to let the feeling slip away.

“Nat…” Dean says, sounding strained, and you look down at him, your eyes locking once again and you lose yourself in the green irises.  You feel the warmth starting to spread slowly from behind your navel.  You’re so close and you redouble your efforts, forcing your tiring limbs to push a little further, a little faster, a little harder and suddenly the world falls away from you and you feel a wave of ecstasy crashing into you hard, rocking back your body, and you cry out as all your muscles contract and tighten around the hard rod of Dean’s cock buried deeply inside you.

He wraps his arms around you and buries the side of his face against your chest, his biceps bulging under your fingers as he holds you in place.  “Fuuuck,” he sighs as he trembles, his twitching muscles bucking against you.

As you slowly come down from your ecstatic high, your panting returning more to normal, Dean slowly releases you and sits back against the seat.  You look down at him, a smile pulling at your lips as you relish just how satiated you feel, your limbs deliciously heavy and your head blissfully light and free of any and all thoughts.  His own mouth pulls into a smile as he looks down at your lips.  His hand cups your jaw gently and he pulls you down for a sweet, slow kiss.

With a sigh, you figure fun time is over, and you pull away from him reluctantly.  The man has a reputation after all.  You know what to expect now.  You swing your leg back from his lap as you roll to the side to sit beside him on the black leather seat.  You barely have time to register the mild sting on your knees as the air comes into contact with the rub burns left behind by the hot leather, that Dean wraps you in his arms again and pulls you against him.  His lips press against yours again, this time being much more forceful as he takes control of the kiss, slipping his tongue between your parted lips in quick flicks.  He leaves a line of wet kisses down your jaw and neck as his hand closes over your breast, his thumb and index rolling your nipple between them, the contact sending a little shock through you regardless of your previous sated state.

“If you think,” he rumbles against your throat, “that I’m even close to done with you…” your breath hitches as his lips close on your earlobe, giving it a quick suck and making you twitch involuntarily, “you’re wrong.”

What a great fucking idea, hunting with Dean Winchester.

_Greasy slicked-down_  
Groovy leather trim  
I like the way ya hold the road  
Mama, it ain't no sin  
Talking 'bout love  
I'm talking 'bout love  
I'm talking 'bout 

_Ooh, trouble-free transmission_  
Helps your oil's flow  
Mama, let me pump your gas  
Mama, let me do it all  
Talking 'bout love, ah  
Talking 'bout love, oh  
Talking 'bout 

_Check that heavy metal_  
Underneath your hood  
Baby, I can work all night  
Believe I got the perfect tools  
Talking 'bout love  
Talking 'bout love  
Talking 'bout 

_Automobile with comfort_  
Really built with style  
Specialist tradition  
Mama, let me feast my eyes  
Talking 'bout love  
Talking 'bout love  
Talking 'bout 

_Factory air-conditioned_  
Heat begins to rise  
Guaranteed to run for hours  
Mama, you're the perfect size  
Talking 'bout love  
Talking 'bout love  
Talking 'bout 

_Grooving on the freeway_  
Gauges all are red  
Gun down on my gasoline  
Believe I'm gonna crack your head  
Talking 'bout love  
Talking 'bout love  
I'm talking 'bout

_I can't stop talking about  
I can't stop talking about_

_Ooh yeah, yes-ah  
Drive on!_

_Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yes, I'm coming through_

_Come to me for service_  
Every hundred miles  
Baby, let me check your points  
Fix your overdrive  
Talking 'bout love  
I'm talking 'bout love  
I'm talking 'bout 

_Oh yes, fully automatic_  
Comes in any size  
Makes me wonder what I did  
Before we synchronized  
Talking 'bout love  
I'm talking 'bout love  
I'm talking 'bout 

_Oh-oh, feather-light suspension_  
Konis couldn't hold  
I'm so glad I took a look  
Inside your showroom doors  
Talking 'bout love  
Talking 'bout love  
Talking 'bout

_I can't, I can't_ _  
_

_Oh, I can't stop talking about love  
I can't stop talking about love_

_Oh, let me go on down, go on down  
Go on down, go on down, go on down, yes_

_I can't stop talking 'bout_  
  
Push  
Push  
Push it  
Push  
Push

**Author's Note:**

> Title of the story and lyrics are from Led Zeppelin's Trappled Under Foot... so NOT a song about a car.


End file.
